


Baby's First Date

by lesbianettes



Series: Baby's First [2]
Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Dinner Date, Ethan doesn't know how to act like a human, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Romance, bi!Ethan, bi!natalie, discovering sexuality, gay!Crockett, some anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 21:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: As Ethan comes to terms with his sexuality, there's the matter of Crockett asking him on a date.





	Baby's First Date

After kissing Crockett, Ethan goes home to his apartment, feeds his bird, eats cold leftovers, and goes to bed. He sleeps fitful but long, and doesn’t feel rested when he wakes up and goes back into work. Nothing is different, but everything is. He can still feel the faint ghosts of Crockett’s hands on his cheeks, his chest against his own. The memory is strong and heavy, oppressive across his mind as he tries to go about his shift.

Crockett is there too, and doesn’t do a single thing to indicate remembrance of the moment shared, even when they cross paths working over the same shooting patient. Ethan’s hand in the patient’s body, holding his artery shut to stop the bleeding, Crockett pulling on gloves as he orders his trauma team to scrub in because they don’t have a lot of time, for some reason Ethan feels like this is the perfect moment to bring up the unspoken.

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” he asks as he walks along with the bed, still clamping the artery by hand. It’s a bad time. “Because I think we should.”

“Choi, can this wait until after surgery?”

Yes. Of course it can. He nods, and then someone who’s dressed properly for surgery comes and replaces his hand with the tool designed to do it better, and then he’s abandoned outside the glass doors with blood up to his wrist and a sinking feeling in his chest. Maybe Crockett is avoiding him for a reason, like regret. What reason would he have had to kiss him besides an impulse that may be embarrassing now in the morning after? Ethan hates that he even brought it up, and he hates more that he had welcomed the kiss so easily the night before.

Worst of all, he can’t forget Crockett’s words in the doctor’s lounge, about how liking men and women aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. But they are. And they aren’t. And he keeps thinking about Crockett’s lips against his own and how they had been so soft, so tender, but it doesn’t mesh with a life spent pursuing women and being happy with that. He hasn’t experienced this before. If he was gay, wouldn’t he have known sooner? Shouldn’t the realization have come in high school or perhaps even earlier? Gay people don’t realize this shit when they’re as old and world-weary as he is. He’s not having this crisis now.

That’s how he winds up sitting in the cafeteria, slowly eating yogurt, with Natalie sitting beside him and looking amused. She sees right through him, but he can’t help asking. There’s no one else to turn to except for Crockett, which doesn’t feel like a good or fun idea at this point in time, if he’s honest. That surgery’s been going on for at least an hour. If the patient dies because of Ethan’s delay to ask a stupid question, he might as well quit his job right here and now.

“You’re gay,” he says as an opener. “Right?”

Natalie shakes her head. “I’m bi.”

“Bi?”

“Bisexual,” she amends.

He considers that briefly, mind flashing a brief memory of Emily talking about this when they were teenagers. “So you like men and women?”

“Yes and no.” She shrugs. “I guess I’m attracted to any gender or lack thereof. But I have a preference for women.”

Ethan takes another bite of the yogurt, which has no discernable flavor when all he can think about is Crockett and the fact that he’s absolutely made a huge mistake in allowing what happened last night. Bisexual. He could be bisexual. But he isn’t, and he doesn’t know what’s going on in his head right now to have made everything spiral out of control in a matter of hours. 

“I don’t know what I am.”

She rubs his back like a mother might, comforting her child in desperate need of someone to just tell them that it’s okay. Natalie’s always reminded him of maternity, even before Owen. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You have time to figure it out, and even if you never do, it’s okay.”

But he likes labels, neat little boxes to fit himself and his patients into in order to make the world a little less chaotic. Not knowing is going to drive him crazy. He needs answers, but he doesn’t have them and even if he was bisexual, that’s not something he’s necessarily ready to say for himself right now. He’s never thought about it before. He’s never been interested in men before, and he has this fear that it’s a one time thing, blown out of proportion from a moment of weakness and alcohol in a kiss that he can’t stop thinking about. 

Natalie sits with him until he finishes his yogurt, and then he stays by himself until he gets word that his patient is out of surgery. Which means Crockett is also after surgery, and Ethan hates the inopportune time he chose to bring up what happened between them. He was impulsive. He was stupid. The entire walk back to the ED, he berates himself for his impulsivity, and wonders how badly he’s really fucked up when he arrives at his patient’s recovery room. Now the focus is his secondary industries, like the scrapes on his body and a long gash steadily bleeding on his leg. Stable, but not solved. 

“He’s a fighter,” Crockett says as Ethan puts in the call to plastics for his leg. “Heart on us in surgery for a minute, but he pulled through.”

“I can see that, thanks.”

A hand, nearly burning with how warm it is, settles on the small of Ethan’s back as Crockett leans in close beside him under the pretense of observing the vitals closer. “You wanted to talk about last night?”

Yes. No. Maybe. He kind of wants to curl up in a ball and scream for the next ten years. Instead he nods and gets antiseptic on the patient’s slightly bloody cheek. It’s a good thing the anesthesia hasn’t worn off, that would probably hurt. Even the toughest have cried like babies when it comes to borderline road rash like this.

“Was I a good kisser for you, Choi?”

“That’s not the point.”

But yes. It was a good kiss, one that Ethan still craves. 

“Then what’s the question?”

“What did it mean?”

Crockett breathes out slow, pulls his hand away from Ethan’s back, and offers him a smile like the sun. “To me? To me, it meant the first real connection with a person since I got to Chicago. I can’t tell you what it meant to you.”

Somehow, the answer feels evasive, and when Crockett leaves Ethan there, he’s gotten no satisfaction and no reprieve from burning curiosity and self-revelation twenty-odd years too far down the line. But Crockett did say enough to fuel more questions. To him, it was connection. To him, it was something. Which means Ethan can’t pretend it was nothing and move on, and he has to confront the way he feels out of nowhere. 

What did it mean to him? This is a choice for himself to make, not to ask of Crockett because he isn’t going to be getting a solid answer. It had to have meant something if he’s still thinking about it the next day, still pondering its significance in his sudden questioning of something he thought he knew about himself.

Plastics arrives shortly to stitch up the patient, and then he’s off to the ICU, leaving Ethan to finish up some paperwork side by side with Crockett. The man radiates an ungodly amount of heat, enough for Ethan to feel it even with the inch or so between them. He should speak.

“Dr. Manning asked me how I managed to get you, of all people, asking her about bisexuality.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with you,” he says. Defensive. Obvious. “I was just asking her some questions.”

“Should I be jealous?”

Before Ethan gets the chance to answer, Crockett laughs. But it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at him, just as a joke they’re both supposedly in on. And it has to mean something. Everything needs to mean something. He can’t keep drifting afloat like this with no idea what’s happening or what this stands for in terms of his sexuality.

“I’m not into Natalie.”

“Are you into me?”

Ethan freezes. It’s not as easy as that. And he can’t think straight with Crockett so close, smiling at him like that, their shoulders now brushing. Being put on the spot like this isn’t helpful in figuring himself out, either. Fuck this. Fuck Crockett.

Fuck Crockett?

That’s not a thought he’s even marginally ready to deal with right now, especially as Crockett sets a gentle hand on Ethan’s arm, just above his elbow. He’s so tender with him in every touch. It makes it harder. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if this is- I’m sorry if-”

“I don’t know,” Ethan admits, and doesn’t pull away from the touch. “I don’t know if I’m… I just don’t know yet.”

Crockett nods and his hand dips down to touch Ethan’s waist. It mirrors the night before, the way Ethan touched him, and it makes him feel small in his own ED. He swallows hard. This is going somewhere. He’s not ready for it. 

“Then how about I take you out for dinner this weekend? Somewhere nicer than Molly’s, and no pressure to figure things out. Take your time. I’m willing to wait.”

Time for Ethan to figure it out, but with the expectation that he’s going to decide he likes Crockett beyond amicable colleagues. No pressure. It’s a useless assurance. He should say no, avoid the trap brewing which Crockett likely didn’t set on purpose. 

Instead, he agrees. Lord knows why, but he agrees, and Crockett promises to take him out on Friday. “I’ll pick you up and everything,” he says, after offering his phone number. “Just text me your address by then.”

Friday, only a handful of days away. Three, not counting today. Then he’ll be on a date with Crockett, and what’s the ettiquette for that, actually? Who pays? Do they split it? What if the date becomes a shared bed that night and regret in the morning. He shouldn’t have said yes, but it’s too late to back out now. Fuck his entire life. Three days to figure this out, or come up with some reason not to go. He’s screwed, isn’t he?

When he goes home that night, he spends two straight hours in front of his closet, trying to make a decision about what to wear for a date that’s days away. He looks good in navy, and Emily gave him a nice button down with white polka dots on it for Christmas a couple years ago. Maybe that one. Should he wear a tie? Should he wear slacks or dark jeans? Fuck. he hasn’t been this worked up about a date since he was a teenager having his first dinner and movie with the girl in his civics class. It’s because he doesn’t know the rules, he tells himself. He doesn’t know how this is supposed to go or what it might turn into, and he isn’t certain yet that he even likes Crockett. And as a rule of thumb, he doesn’t go on dates with people he isn’t sure he likes.

So Ethan gives his closet door a nice kick and changes out of his scrubs. Joggers and gloves. He can be productive with his nervous energy. After all, he has a punching bag up in his living room for more than just morning workouts. It’s to burn things like this off, and he can stop thinking so much about Crockett’s smile as he beats the ever-loving shit out of the red cover and makes his hands ache with the force. He should’ve wrapped them under the gloves. Too late now.

On Wednesday, he doesn’t see Crockett, and he wastes another evening on the punching bag.

Thursday, he’s only just taking off his coat when Crockett walks in and grabs his wrist, tender with bruises already, and lifts it up for inspection. “What happened here?” he asks, like it isn’t his fault. To be fair, he doesn’t know. “Get in a back alley fight or something?”

Ethan shrugs and pulls away.

“Okay, fine,” Crockett says, raising his hands defensively. But he’s still smiling like every single memory of him blaring in Ethan’s brain. It’s with that smile on his face that he leans in and smacks a wet kiss onto Ethan’s cheek like a child imitating cartoons. He laughs as Ethan wipes the space with a furrowed brow. “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

He almost shrugs again, but instead agrees and they make plans for seven. At seven, after they’ve had time to shower and change, Crockett will pick him up and buy him dinner and it’s actually going to happen. It’s going to happen, he repeats in a mantra all day, and all through the night and the next day as Crockett dances around him. They work. Crockett compliments him time and time again. And Ethan tries to hold himself together and avoid a complete panic. 

Dinner is happening.

Dinner is happening, and come Friday night, he’s ironed his shirt three times before he finally puts it on and smooths it again. His hair is gelled. He’s even put on his nice cologne for the occasion. He just wants it to go well, but all the same, he’s terrified of what this date could turn into. Everything is moving too fast for him.

In fact, he tells his reflection, “This is too fast,” seconds before his door thuds in a heavy knock that he knows comes from Crockett’s fist. 

He doesn’t bother calling out that he’ll be there in a second, just pulls the door open. Crockett cleans up nice. His hair has been styled, a crisp red button down clinging to his frame, cradling a bouquet of roses with the same bright color. 

“For you,” Crockett says, holding them out. They’re beautiful, like Crockett’s smile. Ethan wants to scream. “Thought you deserved something as gorgeous as you.”

Fuck. Fuck. He takes them with a soft thanks and sets them on the table to set in a vase after dinner. Dinner, Crockett is taking him to dinner, and when they leave the house, Crockett wraps an arm around him, pulls him in close. He smells like spice and warmth, as opposed to hospital antiseptic and sterility. 

“Have you ever been to that steakhouse downtown?”

“No.”

Crockett smiles a little. He’s always smiling. It’s always breathtaking. “Me neither. But it’s supposed to be crazy good, apparently it’s where Manning and Nurse Sexton like to go on their date nights.”

“They’re dating?”

“Yeah,” Crockett answers, fishing for his car keys. “Have been for like six months, according to Dr. Manning.”

Maybe Ethan should pay a little more attention to his coworkers who aren’t Crockett. He makes a mental note to talk to April, ask how things are going, and then banishes them from his mind as Crockett opens the passenger door for him. It’s a nice car, but not over-the-top luxurious, and it’s warm against the bitter autumn cold as they pull out of his complex. The entire ride is just Crockett talking mindlessly about how hard it was to find flowers “worthy of someone like you” in that heavy accent, smiling with his eyes as each word spills out. 

Crockett leads him into the restaurant just as he guided him out of the house. Touchy, affectionate. He’s going to start crying. The restaurant is nice. Spacious, classically decorated, romantically lit. It’s nicer than anywhere he’s ever taken anyone on a date, even an anniversary. But this is a first date. And Crockett’s made reservations, so that they’re seated right away and a fancy waiter comes by with a bottle of wine he shows them before pouring into their glasses.

“This is really nice,” Ethan admits, taking a sniff before a sip. He’s not much of a wine guy. “Thanks.”

“Only the best for you,” Crockett replies. He’s got that smile again. “Baby’s first gay date.”

“I hate you.”

Crockett laughs. It’s going to become some in joke, Ethan already knows, and he’s annoyed but there’s a charm to it, the way there is to everything that he says and does. To the way he flags down a waiter to order, to the twang in his voice as he tells some story about partying in med school, to the warmth of his hand when he holds Ethan’s atop the crisp tabletop.

His chest aches when Crockett asks if he wants dessert. Something sweet to round out the night, fill them both with warmth, and he knows he has to admit that this is a lot for him. This is too much, too fast. He isn’t ready.

“I think the tiramasu is supposed to be good,” he says, pointing at the picture. “What do you think?”

“This is moving too fast.”

Crockett pauses and looks up at him. Eyes crinkling, a smile pulling at his lips. Not a bright one, just sad and a little bittersweet. “I get it.”

Somehow, this is worse than if Crockett was angry. 

“Take all the time you need to figure yourself out,” he says. “If and when you’re ready, I’ll be here. And if you ever do decide you like men, just not me, that’s okay too. Thanks for coming out with me tonight.”

He leans over the table to leave a tender kiss to Ethan’s forehead. 

“I can drive you home or call you an Uber, your choice.”

“I’ll take the ride.”

They don’t share dessert, and when Crockett drives him home, talking inanely about this or that, Ethan can’t stop looking at him. There is no kiss goodbye, kiss goodnight. Only him back in his apartment, the only other things worth notice being his bird and the bouquet of flowers waiting for a vase to support them a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @beelivia


End file.
